What Janie Found (8 page)

It was Brian who decided they needed chocolate. He got up off the floor, offering to make everybody a sundae.

“Heat the chocolate sauce,’” said Reeve.

“You go with him,’” Janie said, pushing him gently. “You heat the chocolate sauce.’”

Reeve opened his mouth to protest.

“I need to pull myself together,’” she said.

He almost didn’t go, so she looked away from him, and frowned down into the folder, and he was forced to follow Brian into the kitchen.

She had said it out loud to a brother and an ex-boyfriend, the worst thought of all: I’m not the daughter who counts.

She hoped she could trust them. There was no way to pretend she had not said those words.

Janie put every paper neatly back into the folder. Clumsily getting to her knees, with her right hand she found the alphabetical space for H. J. and with her left shifted the folder to the proper angle for inserting it into the drawer, and there, on the back outside of the heavy paper, was a lightly penciled address.

A post office box, a city and state.

Of course.

The checks had to be mailed.

The kidnapper lived someplace. She was not just out there, adrift in a population of two hundred fifty million.

She isn’t lost, thought Janie, staring in horror and fascination at the address. Frank is lost. But Hannah is
there.
In Boulder, Colorado. Where Stephen is.

Janie Johnson took a deep breath.

I could go.

I could visit Stephen.

And find Hannah.

CHAPTER
NINE

“I’m home!’” called Janie’s mother.

Janie closed the file drawer.

From the kitchen drifted voices and the rich sweet smell of chocolate.

“Hi, Mrs. Johnson,’” said Reeve. “How’s Mr. Johnson? Any better?’”

“He is. I truly believe he squeezed my hand.’”

“That’s great,’” said Brian. “We should celebrate. We’re all having chocolate sundaes. You want chocolate or cookie dough ice cream with yours, Mrs. J.?’”

Janie slipped through the hall and ran lightly up the stairs to her room. Now that the boys had proved how easily they could read her face, she needed to stand in private until her face got slack and boring. The boys thought they knew everything.

They knew nothing.

In the mirror she saw that her eyes had flared too wide and her cheeks sported hot pink blotches. She opened a bottle of lotion and rubbed it over her face and into her skin. She stretched her arms and shook her wrists, then shook her shoulders, waist, hips, knees and ankles, to the tune of an old elementary school gym song.

Then she emptied her lungs, as if the room were full of birthday candles and she must puff out hundreds.

Find Hannah.

Ask the thousand questions that had stung Janie like wasps since the day she first saw her face on the milk carton. Why?
Why me?
What made you do it? How did you do it? Did I laugh? Did I mind being stolen from my family? When you thought my name was Janie, not Jennie, did I argue? Did I cry? Did you slap me?

And afterward.

Oh, Hannah, afterward.

When you saw your mother and father for the first time in years, and lied to them, saying, “This is your granddaughter,’” were you laughing at them? Taking some obscure revenge? Or was it just convenient?

What were you running from? What were you running toward?

Why did you take me with you? Why didn’t you take me the rest of the way? Where did you go next?

Did you think about that family in New Jersey, and what they would go through when their baby vanished? Did you think about them every night? Did you have nightmares?

Or did you forget?

All those years, Hannah!

Where have you been? What have you been doing? Have you ever loved? Or do you still use people, throw them away, and drive on?

She found that she was kneading lotion into her hands like a surgeon scrubbing.

I can find her, Janie thought. It won’t be hard. She gets money four times a year, and that date is coming up. If you get money only every three months, you’re not going to forget about showing up at the post office. You’ll be there on time. So I mail her check to that box, and then I wait at the post office!

She ran a movie of this through her mind and saw herself standing around for hours, or days, hoping to spot a Hannah-like adult.

It wouldn’t work.

Janie paced, circling her bed, rearranging pillows as if they were Hannah’s throat.

I know. Instead of putting the check in the envelope,
I’ll put in a note.
I’ll tell her to meet me someplace and she’ll get her money after we talk.

Yes!

But how sick. How scary.

Writing a letter to my kidnapper.

Handwriting was so intimate. It was impossible. She would have to do it on the computer and print it out. But even then—write to this person who had mutilated their lives?

But kidnapping, too, possessed a terrible intimacy. Janie had no real memory because she’d been so little. But Hannah Javensen would remember.

I’m doing it, Janie thought fiercely. I’ll get a guidebook and figure out a good spot to meet Hannah.

Her body was a race car. Every physiological count rocketed—pulse, temperature, adrenaline—her thoughts roaring, leaping, slamming into the dark cold night of finding Hannah Javensen.

All she had to do was visit Stephen. Soon.

He’s bound to be in class or at work during the day, Janie thought, so I’ll have lots of time on my own. Time to scout out—

“Janie!’” called her mother from the bottom of the stairs. “Sundaes are ready! Chocolate is hot, ice cream is cold!’”

Janie knew what she would see when she reached the stair landing. Her mother—silvery haired; rings swinging loose on her fingers because she had lost so much weight—would be beautifully dressed, probably in a suit: a long slim jacket, a bright silk blouse, a beautifully tied scarf and pin. She would be looking up the stairs, ready to smile.

Miranda Johnson must not have an inkling of Janie’s plans. Neither must Reeve. Certainly not Brian.

Let them think she was worried and heartsick because her father wrote a check now and then. Don’t let them figure out that she had a way to reach her kidnapper by herself.

I must have no expression on my face, Janie told herself, except pleasure at the taste of chocolate. “Coming!’” she called.

In the kitchen Janie accepted her sundae, sat in her chair at the old oak table opposite Reeve and managed to hang on to her spoon without flipping it through a window or up at the ceiling.

Every muscle and joint in her body twitched, as if her intent were to run all the way to Colorado. She wanted to leap up on the table and tap-dance, trampoline, do acrobatics. “No, thank you, Brian,’” she said politely, “no marshmallow sauce.’”

Her mother was saying, “Fifth! Reeve, that’s wonderful. Are you going to become a driver, do you think, or stay on as pit crew? I don’t think I want you to drive. It’s quite dangerous, isn’t it? How fast do they really go?’”

Reeve lied about how fast they really went. His lies were comforting and sane and reasonable. But they were still lies.

Janie marshaled her own lying powers. Her father was relatively stable right now, and she could probably convince Mom that she, Janie, required a rest and a change of pace. That part probably wouldn’t be hard.

The hard part was coming up with a reason to visit Stephen.

He’s my brother? I love him? I miss him?

No, because she and Stephen had despised each other during her short life as Jennie Spring last year. He’d thought she was a spoiled brat, and when she returned to Connecticut as Janie Johnson, he’d said that proved his point. Janie had acknowledged a certain amount of spoiled brattage in herself and when Stephen was home over Thanksgiving and Christmas, had admitted it to him. They’d actually gotten along—for two days.

How about this? she thought. I want to go to college in Colorado. Every Connecticut teenager goes through a Colorado stage. Mine just began. What better way to decide on a school? Go and stay with Stephen.

Mom won’t let me stay in his actual room but Stephen must know some girls, and I can stay in their room. Or in a hotel.

Okay. Would Stephen say yes? He might not. Stephen was difficult at best. And his best did not show up that often. Stephen was outstanding at being his worst.

What if he said no?

She had to think of a way to do this so that he’d jump at the chance to have her.

Brian.

She would use Brian.

Brian adored Stephen, and missed him terribly, and often compared him to Reeve, which Janie did not think was fair to either of them. She would say to Brian, I want to go to the university in Boulder, like Stephen, and of course I need to see the campus and talk to people, and why don’t you and I fly out to Boulder for a few days?

Her New Jersey parents would go all warm and cuddly at the idea of their two sons united out West and in the presence of the lost sister. They’d be thrilled that Janie wanted to go to school where Stephen was; automatic big-brother care would be part of the college package.

Nobody would consult Stephen; they knew better. Stephen didn’t do care packages.

The lies were shaping up well.

Once they were in Boulder, she would suggest brotherly activities; Brian and Stephen must hike, or white-water raft, or whatever they did out there.

She, Janie, would be hunting.

CHAPTER
TEN

The following morning, the weather was dull and gray.

Brian sat with his book on the Trojan War open to an illustration from a vase painting: Achilles fighting Hector, orange on black. They were immense men, with great jarring rectangular muscles and fierce jutting chins.

Janie’s voice, bright and quick as a chipmunk, spattered at him.

Did she always sound like that?

Brian tried to think clearly.

Hardly anybody in the Trojan War tried to think clearly. They just slaughtered each other. Brian, however, liked to be clear. He liked his facts orderly, and chronological, and carefully laid out.

“But Janie, you’ve always wanted to go to UConn,’” he said, “so that you’d be only an hour’s drive from your parents. Colorado is two thousand miles away. And you and Stephen don’t get along all that well.’”

“But don’t you want to visit him?’” said Janie.

“I’d love to,’” said Brian uneasily.

Last night, she’d been seething. Calling the kidnapper vicious and rotten. Drenched with tears, using up half a box of Kleenex. She’d been shouting and slamming her hands on the floor.

Now all she wanted was a few days’ rest in Colorado? Since when had Stephen ever been restful?

And why was she talking in this cheery little voice?

“But you’re right,’” he said slowly, “that Mom and Dad will say yes. They’ve really loosened up this year.’”

Not only was Jodie already packing for college, Mom herself had gone back to school, taking a full summer semester along with working. Dad had started traveling for his job, which he never used to do, fearful of being away from the kids. Kidnap fear had been set to rest, and Dad was thrilled with his travel, with the being-away time, no need to check on each child before he made a move. But while Brendan was going to sport camps, Brian was just filling time with Janie’s kidnap family. Brian knew his parents would let him go anywhere.

He watched Janie carefully. Then he said, “I’m not sure Stephen wants us out there. He’s kind of separated himself, you know. Dad says it’s a way to leave the kidnapping behind.’”

Janie did not seem to care whether Stephen wanted them or not. “I’d wander around the campus,’” she said airily. “Have an interview, check things out. You and Stephen would have adventures together. You know. Backpacking. Canoeing.’”

“I only like to read about adventure,’” said Brian. He tried to figure out a connection between the file folder and this giddy travelogue, but he couldn’t come up with anything. “And Stephen’s working full time plus going to class; he can’t fit that in.’”

But how he’d love to visit Stephen. He’d never been west and he’d only flown twice. To cross the Great Plains! See the Rocky Mountains!

Already Brian was losing interest in the Trojan War and wondering where he had put his
Journals of Lewis and Clark.

“Please, Brian?’” coaxed Janie. “Call Stephen for me?’”

Brian turned pages as if he might find a clue in the history of Troy. Finally, unwillingly, he said, “Did you find something else in that folder after Reeve and I went to make sundaes?’”

“Don’t be silly!’” Janie tilted her head from side to side like a robin wondering whether to sing or eat. “Of course I didn’t. You saw everything in it, Brian. Everything. No, I’ve put that behind me. I think a trip out West would be such fun. Think how relaxing it would be. And you and I deserve a rest.’”

“What did you find?’” said Brian.

Janie reached for her hair, a nervous habit she was not aware of, gripping the entire red bush in one hand and making a topknot with which she dusted her forehead.

“If you lie, I’m not calling Stephen,’” said Brian. “I’ll call Stephen only when you tell me what else was in the folder.’”

Brian reminded Janie of Lizzie. Brian and Lizzie were both really smart. Really quick. Plain basic types like Janie and Reeve could always get cornered.

She didn’t have time for this.

All kinds of things threatened to trap her.

Her father’s illness: He was stable right now. Tomorrow she could say, I need a break; and her mother would say, Yes, you do, darling.

But if her father got worse—and the only thing worse was death—Janie wasn’t going anywhere. And if he got better—

Janie shivered at the thought of her father getting better. If he could talk, she would have to ask. She didn’t want answers from
him
this time.

She wanted answers from the source.

Hannah.

And Lizzie’s wedding was coming up; Janie could not be away for the wedding. Nobody would
let
her be away for the wedding.

And the date on which the check was to be written was coming up, and this was the time H. J. would be getting hungry. Perhaps literally hungry. Perhaps desperate and angry and frantic for that money.

Janie didn’t want Brian to be anything but her passport to Boulder. She hoped for a timely interruption: a phone call, a mother returning, Lizzie with fabric scraps.

But nothing happened.

Nothing except that Brian really was smart. Probably one day he would be a law partner in Lizzie’s firm, and together they would destroy whole corporations. Brian closed his book, changed his position and looked hard into her eyes. “I did wonder about something, Janie. The checks have to be mailed. Is the address in there? Do you know where Hannah lives now?’”

Janie tried to look blank.

“Is it Colorado?’” said Brian.

Janie let go of her hair. She let go of her sparkle. She said, “Boulder. Hannah Javensen has a post office box in Boulder.’”

Brian was glad he was sitting. Glad Janie was so busy with her hair.

The kidnapper in Boulder.

How grotesque, how sickening, that all unknowing, Stephen had been near her, breathing her same air, all these months.

The air in Brian’s lungs felt filled with fungus and fever, as if Hannah had infected him.

Again he struggled for clear thought.

Back when Brian’s family had first learned that a woman named Hannah Javensen had stolen Jennie, they were told that Hannah had been in a dangerous cult.

Brian, of course, had gone straight to the library to read everything he could find about cults. A cult, it turned out, was a group of people with a job: Get a victim. Drain the personality. Siphon off the soul. Keep the body for your own use.

If Hannah was still in a cult, it was truly dangerous to be in touch with her. A cult’s mission stayed the same: Suck those kids in.
Keep them.
He and Janie must not get near her.

On the other hand, Hannah could have become part of ordinary society. It was possible that she had a job where no history or Social Security number was required. She might just be a person who watched her favorite TV shows and brushed her teeth, walked the dog and liked Chinese restaurants.

But she might not be.

And no matter what, Brian didn’t want anything touching Stephen. “What are you going to do?’” he said thickly. “Stake out the post office box?’”

“I’m just going to look,’” said Janie.

“There’s no such thing as just looking. We find her, we’ll end up talking to her.’”

Janie hid behind her hair.

“Your father made absolutely sure Hannah couldn’t know where you live, Janie. He sent all that money from a distance! Changed his name—even changed
her
name. He doesn’t want anybody to be in touch. We have to trust his judgment.’”

This, Brian realized immediately, was ridiculous. The fact that the file existed proved that Frank had lousy judgment.

“I’m not three years old this time,’” said Janie. “Hannah can’t take me for another ride. I want answers. I’m getting them.’”

“So you are going to talk to her.’”

“Of course not, I told you, I just want to see her.’”

“You’re lying. You want to talk to her. I can’t let you. It’s dangerous. It’s wrong.’”

Brian’s life was built on being the good guy. The son who helped his mother shop and his father change the oil; the brother who softened family fights; the classmate who, when somebody asked a particularly stupid question, rephrased it so that the teacher would answer kindly and nobody would laugh.

Finding Hannah was not the act of a good guy. The only good thing about Hannah was that she was not in their lives.

He said, “I’m telling.’” The two words made him feel little and stupid and helpless.

“Like who?’” said Janie. Her voice was hard and thin, like brittle cracker. “You can’t tell my father, he’s in a coma. You can’t tell my mother, she’ll fall apart. You can’t tell your mother and father, they’re too thrilled with their new lives. If they’re forced to face a real live Hannah and a real live trial, their new lives are down the tube. You can’t tell Stephen, he’d be first on the phone to the FBI. There’s nobody to tell, Brian.’”

“A million things could go wrong,’” he protested.

“She’s just some middle-aged wreck of a woman who probably can’t even bag groceries.’”

“Then why bother?’” shouted Brian. He flung the book across the room, and that was rare for him; he didn’t have much of a temper. He wasn’t sure whether he was angry or afraid.

“This is my life Hannah took and threw off the cliff,’” Janie shouted back. “I have the right to close in on her. You promised you’d call Stephen if I told you what else was in that folder. I told you. So are you going to call him?’”

There were so many ways in which this could explode. He had to stop her. They would all slide off the cliff again, and Hannah was the type to escape and stand at the top laughing while the others fell.

“I’m telling,’” said Brian.

“There’s nobody to tell!’” said his sister.

“Reeve. I’m telling Reeve.’”